


in the wave-strike over unquiet stones

by shcherbatskayas



Category: Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Angst?, Based on a Poem, Canon Compliant, F/M, Post First Trial But Pre Twilight Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-20 05:47:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12426258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shcherbatskayas/pseuds/shcherbatskayas
Summary: fuyuhiko and peko, before their world collapses around them.





	in the wave-strike over unquiet stones

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in a self-loathing induced writing fest at 1:30 so all mistakes are on me. also, me??? writing within canon???? what is this??? also if you want to read the poem this is based off of, go [here](https://m.poemhunter.com/poem/in-the-wave-strike-over-unquiet-stones/). title credit and poem credit all go to pablo neruda. i hope you like it, and if you do, please leave a comment!

the world is quiet around fuyuhiko kuzuryuu, entirely silent, actually, except for the sound of the waves beating against the cliffs. he sits on the edge of them, letting his legs dangle as he watches the ocean roar forward and then break against the rocks. the sea spray comes up and mists his face, offering relief from the oppressive heat. today is too hot for his normal three-piece suit: a pair of khakis and a button-down that monokuma put in the back of his closet are better choices for beating the heat.

he can’t stop thinking about hanamura, of all goddamn things.

fuyuhiko had seen someone die before that execution, of course. he was yakuza. he had seen a lot of people die, almost all of them being slimy motherfuckers who deserved it. he had even killed a few of them himself, when the situation called for it.

but it was nothing like _that_.

it was almost comical, how over the top his death was. almost, but not quite. he was feathered and then cooked like a chicken inside of a volcano and his screams for mercy had echoed up to the rest of the class, who watched with varying degrees of horror. they had been distorted, almost not sounding like words at all, but it wasn’t hard to figure out who hanamura was calling for. what was it about death that always made people want to see their mothers? his mom was the last person he’d want to see if he was being cooked alive. his mom is the last person he wants to see at any time, if fuyuhiko is being honest with himself.

still, fuyuhiko figures that he’ll see her soon, along with the rest of his family. it won’t be too long until he and peko figure out a way out of here, surely it won’t. this definitely isn’t the first time they’ve been kidnapped, after all. the first time they’ve been kidnapped by a homicidal teddy bear, sure, but not the first time they’ve been kidnapped, and they’ve always escaped. always. being trapped on an island with a bunch of terrified fuckin’ morons who were actually stupid enough to fall for monokuma’s bullshit wouldn’t change that. hell, they might be able to bring the rest of the class with them if they play it right, and if not, they’ll definitely come back for them soon after they get out. it’s just a matter of biding their time, and in fuyuhiko’s case, avoiding almost everyone because he doesn’t trust them not to get so scared that they try and kill him, which would be more annoying than actually dangerous for him. peko, bless her soul, isn’t more trusting than him, but more willing to work with them to try and figure a way out. she’s an angel, he thinks. a very strange, blood-drenched angel, but angel nonetheless.

fuyuhiko doesn’t know, of course, that there's only one way off of this island and that’s through the virtual reality breaking down. he doesn’t know that he’s in a virtual reality at all. he doesn’t know that the sea he’s watching is just a computer program, along with at least one of his classmates and the clothes that he’s wearing and nearly everything else. he doesn’t know that the real him is lying in a bed, hooked up to a variety of machines, still half in despair. he doesn’t even know what despair is--despair in the junko enoshima sense, that is. he doesn't even know junko enoshima. there is so much that he doesn’t know, but the time for knowing these things approaches silently but certainly, like peko does when she’s sneaking up on someone and about to go in for the kill.

and then, like a vision from a dream, she appears in the corner of his eye. she is distant, but he can see that her silver hair is tied back in a ponytail with her usual ribbons. having her hair tied back changes her face, makes it more open than the braids that always lingered right near her ears and distracted anyone around from the subtle changes in her expression ever did. not even peko can deal with her normal uniform in the heat, and the lighter colors she dons make her seem almost unreal, like she might fade into the sunlight entirely and disappear.

she stops when she sees him. she was running, just like she always does this early, and she probably didn’t expect to see him. after a second, she continues towards him, undeterred by the change in routine.

peko stops again when she’s a few feet away from him, silently asking him if they’re currently pretending to be strangers or if they can fall back into their normal situation like they’ve managed to do the few times they caught each other alone. there is no one but the two of them here now, so fuyuhiko gives her a small nod and she takes a step forward, and then another, and then one more. as she steps closer, fuyuhiko can see a little frilly edge on her light blue skirt and can’t help but be a little bit happy about it, being as stupid and lovestruck as he is. she’s always gravitated towards girly things, and even though this island has given them mostly shit, at least it’s allowed her to express that for at least a little bit.

“young master,” she begins, but fuyuhiko cuts her off there.

“seriously, you can cut the ‘young master’ shit.” he says, picking at a hangnail. “there’s no need for it, really.”

“my apologies.” peko just stands there, her face seemingly neutral until fuyuhiko looks at her eyes and _fuck_ , she looks so genuinely sorry that his chest aches. not many other people are able to tell when she’s expressing an emotion because she’s so damn good at hiding it, but fuyuhiko can’t help but see it clearly. even if he cut out his eyes, he could tell.

(he doesn’t know that he’s already cut out one of them back in reality, but he’ll find that out later. he also doesn’t know that he’ll lose an eye in this reality in a little less than two days, but that’s alright. he’ll deal with that later.)

“it’s fine, it’s fine.” he shrugs and pats a spot on the ground next to him. peko sits there, letting her own legs dangle over the cliffs and folding her hands in her lap. “so, how’re you doin’? everything going well? makin’ friends and all of that good shit?”

“things have been alright, i suppose. everyone seems to be more quiet lately, especially because of what happened to hanamura. and then komaeda…” she sighs and shakes her head. fuyuhiko shakes his as well.

“komaeda.” fuyuhiko agrees. there isn’t much to say about him other than the tone of exasperation that leaks into his voice when he says his name. the rant komaeda went on about talent and hope and everything else at the trial still haunts him. sure, he didn’t necessarily trust komaeda before that, but he didn’t think that he was totally off his rocker. it’s rare for fuyuhiko to get caught off guard like that, and his ego still hasn’t quite recovered from the shock.

“but other than komaeda, people have been generally cooperative and easy to get along with.” peko tells him, and even though fuyuhiko isn’t really part of their whole group, he’s still glad it’s going well. “and how are you?”

peko doesn’t call him young master, but fuyuhiko can hear the odd way she pauses and knows that she was about to add it. progress, he guesses, is all about tiny moments like this, and to him, it seems that time stretches out as infinitely as the ocean below them and so eventually, the words will feel as strange on her lips as they do to his ears. “things have been okay.” he says. “i was just thinkin’ about what i’ll do when i get out of this place.”

“what are your plans, if it’s alright of me to ask?” peko’s looking at him instead of the ocean, curious yet patient, willing to wait all day if she must, and so he answers.

“once we get out of here and deal with all of the normal ‘oh, you were kidnapped!’ bullshit, i’m hoping we can go after monokuma and rip his stuffing out. he deserves it, that annoying little shit. and then maybe we’ll throw some money towards hanamura’s family for his funeral. togami's family won’t need it, of course, but hanamura’s might. and after that...i don’t know. maybe tell nat some dumb stories about the island.” fuyuhiko can’t help but smile as he imagines his sister’s reaction to the situation he’s stuck in. “and then things will go back to normal, i guess. business doesn’t stop for any amount of bullshit. how about you? anything you want to do when we get away from this hellscape?”

peko says nothing for at least thirty seconds, but fuyuhiko doesn’t mind. he’s only started directly asking questions about what she wants since the middle of last semester, and so it takes her some time to think. fuyuhiko doesn’t mind waiting. better that she think of it in her careful, analytical way, picking apart the emotions she’s suppressed for so long and interpreting what they mean, than just lie and say something expected. her eyebrows furrow as she contemplates and fuyuhiko watches her face relax when she gets the answer. it’s easily one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen. “after dealing with everything and settling back in, i think i would want to sleep. i can’t speak for my future self, of course, but if we were to somehow escape and get to safety at this exact moment, that’s what i would do.”

it’s such a simple, lovely desire that fuyuhiko smiles. out of everything in the world she could want, all peko wants was a good rest. she is beyond his comprehension, sometimes, with the pure sweetness and beauty in her soul, but never beyond his affection. “shit, me too. i didn’t even think of that, but that’s on the top of the important things list. once we deal with all the dumb police paperwork and retelling the story a million times, we’ll take the best nap humanity has ever seen. we deserve it. _you_ deserve it. a good nap and everything will be right back to normal. probably better than normal, if we’re being honest. i mean, if we manage to get everyone out of here, my parents will have to respect you.”

“that…” peko stops herself and turns towards the sea, but fuyuhiko knows that she wants to say that would be nice, because she normally says that when she wants something she can never have and shit, that _would_ be nice. but she doesn’t say it. baby steps, fuyuhiko reminds himself. baby steps.

“yeah.” he agrees with her unspoken but understood statement and for a long time, they do nothing but watch the sea together and breathe.

they don’t know that in two days, peko will die in a spot very much like this one, in a spot where the cliffs give way to the sea and the ocean breaks against the rocks. she will die with some seafoam in her hair, but mostly she will die blood-drenched and in agony from so many stab wounds, still trying to protect fuyuhiko. she will just barely succeed, but she will never know that. she will die thinking she killed him with her accidental strike to the eye. she will think that she is protecting a corpse and she will die for that corpse and fuyuhiko will never again sit in this spot because he will see the cliffs and feel the ocean breeze and think of her. they don’t know that natsumi is dead, that fuyuhiko’s parents are dead, that everyone is dead and that they killed most of them. they don’t know they tragedy that awaits them when they finally awaken.

but that doesn’t matter now. all that matters now is that they sit together in silence, shoulders almost touching, and love each other so quietly and certainly that not even the summer sun that shines down on them could dream of comparing.

***

 _merged, you and i, my love, seal the silence_  
_while the sea destroys its continual forms,_  
 _collapses its turrets of wildness and whiteness,_  
_because in the weft of those unseen garments_  
_of headlong water, and perpetual sand,  
__we bear the sole, relentless tenderness._

**Author's Note:**

> [full poem here](https://m.poemhunter.com/poem/in-the-wave-strike-over-unquiet-stones/)


End file.
